


Something Good To Come Out Of The Whole Mess

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apologetic Sherlock, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Mistakes, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poor Molly, Sherlock Apologizes, Sherlock Being Considerate, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being a Good Friend, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock Texting, Sherlock-centric, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has been hounding Sherlock via text to work a case for him, so when Molly sends a message asking him for coffee and ends it with her initials Sherlock tells her off quite rudely, only realizing his mistake belatedly. He goes down to the morgue to apologize and realizes he may have hurt her more than he thought by his careless mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good To Come Out Of The Whole Mess

**Author's Note:**

> So I had, for a while, followed a few groups on Facebook that would occasionally post screenshots of Tumblr posts to the group, and i'd save a few of them as inspiration for fics. [This](http://s22.postimg.org/ljxevhg81/Sherlolly_Text_Prompt.jpg) one from Tumblr user **twotwoonebee** had intrigued me for a while but I hadn't gotten the impetus to write it until my mother picked it in the acronym grab free-for-all yesterday (it was, at the time, one of my untitled stories).

His brother could be the most irritating, persistent prat in the world when he had a bug up his arse, Sherlock realized after what had to have been the tenth text message in nearly an hour. He should have just turned off his mobile, he knew that, but he was waiting for word from Lestrade about the case he was working on, the case he was currently at Barts for, running tests in his lab to see if he could figure out just what the substance on the victim’s neck was. Of _course_ he could trust it to the people working in the labs at the Yard, but with their backlog it would take time, time they didn’t have the luxury of having, and he needed the results _now_.

And if his brother didn’t stop pestering him, so help him…

He ignored the phone for a moment as he focused on the slide. He’d simply been ignoring the texts, or giving them the barest of glances. Mycroft wanted him to pull himself away from what could be a potential serial killer case to work on some piddling job for him. He supposed he owed his brother; they had figured out that the Moriarty video was a hoax, timed expertly to keep him from flying off to a suicide mission to Russia. The game had been strung on long enough to keep him from going at all, and once the problem in Russia had sorted itself out the Moriarty issue had become a dead end. He was curious about that, but he wasn’t able to sate his curiosity. In exchange for the second chance at freedom he had to be at Her Majesty’s beck and call.

Though he could make her wait a while, if he felt there was a need.

And a potential serial killer rather ranked higher on his list of priorities than being the Queen’s blunt instrument at the moment.

There was silence on his mobile, but just for a moment before it buzzed again. That was it. That was his last straw. He went to the mobile and pulled up the message, not bothering to glance at who had sent it, only the message itself. _Do you want to go out for a coffee? – MH_ it read.

So now he was trying the friendly route. No. it would not work. He keyed in a quite succinct and very blunt _Fuck off. – SH_ before hitting send and negligently tossing his phone back on the table before going to the slide again. And then he froze and slowly pulled himself away from his microscope. Mycroft would _never_ be friendly. He would never suggest coffee. He would never phrase it in the form of a question.

But _Molly_ would.

His eyes wide with horror, he went back to his phone and looked at who had sent the text message, and his heart sank when he saw that it had, indeed, been Molly. Damn it to hell, he thought to himself. He had been so irritated with his brother, so _sure_ he’d simply been trying another tack, that he hadn’t been thinking straight, and chances were he’d hurt her feelings. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do that. He could still be an abrasive arse to people he didn’t care about, but he had made a promise to not be that way to his friends.

And especially her.

She was special to him. She had helped him, in more ways than just faking his death. She had given him unconditional kindness when frankly he didn’t deserve it. She had given him her trust and her faith when he needed it most. She had kept his secret, yes, at a cost he still wasn’t sure he fully realized. And she had done it all without asking anything of him except his friendship.

He didn’t deserve her. He had never deserved her. And yet somehow he had done something right, done something in his life where he’d been lucky enough to have her there, and he would do everything he could to keep her there.

And right now, that meant going downstairs to the basement and begging her forgiveness for being such a monumental idiot.

The slides could keep for now, and he pushed away from his work area, going for his coat before he left his lab. He made his way to the lift, going over in his head all the myriad ways he could apologize, all the many different ways he could say he was sorry, all the things he could offer to do to make it up to her. And he was still sorting it all out when he got through the double doors of the morgue, at least until he heard the unmistakable sounds of soft sobbing.

Molly was sobbing in her office.

His mind stopped at that. He had made her cry. Or at least he was fairly sure he had made her cry. Oh, he’d really fucked this up, he realized. He moved to her office door rather hesitantly. Not sure whether he should knock first or not, but deciding in the end to give her a chance to compose herself. He rapped a knuckle on the door a few times. “Molly?” he said quietly.

“Oh!” she said, sounding startled. There was a sniff and he could tell she was trying to compose herself. “Um…oh. Um…Sherlock. Um…give me a moment.”

“Take your time.” He waited a few moments and then the office door opened. Molly looked up at him, her eyes red and slightly puffy, dried tear tracks down her cheeks. Her face was red and blotchy as well. But it was the look in her eyes, the look of pain, the look that she was expecting another lashing, that told him all he needed to know: she had been crying over him. Damn it all. He had never wanted to make her cry again, not after they had made their peace with each other. “The text…it was meant for my brother,” he said gently. “He’s been texting me incessantly, trying to get me to ignore Lestrade’s case to focus on one of his cases. I’ve been ignoring him but I thought the one you sent was him trying a different tactic. I didn’t look at who sent it until after I had sent the reply.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, looking down. “I feel so foolish, crying like that over a silly text.”

“It wasn’t a silly text,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “You had extended an invitation and I had seemingly rebuffed you. Rather cruelly, at that.”

“I should have known better, though,” she said, giving another sniff before looking down at her hands, which she was wringing together. “You aren’t that cruel, to me. I mean, not anymore. I just…I thought if we went to have coffee, we could…talk. And maybe it could be…nice.”

“Maybe it could be a date?” he asked, using his knuckle to lift her head up so she was looking at him.

She nodded just slightly. “I mean, you don’t like me that way, I don’t think, but I still like you that way. I always have, even when I was with Tom. And I thought if we had coffee, maybe we could…see.”

“I think coffee would be an excellent first date,” he said, running his thumb along her cheek. He watched as her eyes went wide, and then a wide smile blossomed on her face. “But first you might want to go to the washroom and put some cold water on your face.”

“I must look a fright,” she said, looking embarrassed.

“Not really. You still look very nice,” he said. “But I think you might want to look a little less blotchy.”

This time the red on her face came from the blush on her cheeks. “All right. Are you free now?”

“I can spare some time for coffee,” he said. “And I’ll make sure to turn my mobile off so we’re interruption free.” He removed his hand from her chin and she gave him one last grin before moving around him. It remained to be seen what his brother wanted, or if he managed to stop the serial killer in his tracks, but Sherlock knew one thing for sure: he was making no mistake in going out for coffee with Molly. This was the absolute best thing to come out of this mess.


End file.
